Ari

Doktor'd

I'd like to add the Complication Responsibility: Caring for the needy, especially his 'posse' of sundry homeless, harmless lunatics and underemployed vagrants who have latched onto him as their protector against street-gangs and minor organized criminals. If any threat comes against them, Marceau feels honor-bound to aid them.

And the Complication Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: His nerve-wracking months in Cambodia have not failed to leave their mark on Marceau's psyche, sharp clashs of metal, gunfire, and just being near a forest can cause him to suffer flashbacks to those days, often causing him to act in an outwardly irrational manner.

Also, I'd like to add this to the last paragraph of the History section:

But first, he has to take care of the small crowd of homeless and disadvantaged who cling to him like limpets to a rock, and look to him as their sole guardian against the criminal element who would otherwise attack them with abandon.

And I'd like to add/remove these to/from his Personality and Motivation section:

Addition: Marceau's desire to be a worthy ruler, not to mention his travels through some of the poorest and most ill-managed regions in the world has born in him a passionate devotion to protecting the 'lower-class' first and foremost. He will actively speak on their behalf or challenge any real or imagined insults against them. Of a similar origin is a deep suspicion of conspiracies of any kind, seeing high-handed assumptions of "the ends justify the means" as insufferable.

Remove: Take out the bit about him wanting justice done against the Januii. Pretty redundant.

Doktor'd

GM: "Nothing very strenuous for you" assured the undergrad, who seemed only slightly startled by the strange voice Jubatus had, "it'll be me and four other students, as well as a temporal physicist from A.S.T.R.O. to keep an eye on us. What the experiments will consist of is a short series of trials examining the ways your abilities affect the world around you. For example, the first one I'm going to set up(provided you agree of course) will be an attempt to scatter a LASER's light by having you stand in front of it and activate your, ah, power, for lack of a better term, when it reaches you. The idea is that if you can alter the flow of time about your person, it may well be possible to figure out how you do so, based on its effects on exterior objects." he looked a bit sheepish for a moment before adding "a slightly tenuous base for such a hypothesis, yes, but if it's possible to determine what a boulder is made of by how much water it displaces, I think it within the bounds of reason to assume a similar rationale for the time/space continuum" he shrugged, "your call, sir. I understand metas are often leery of investigation or third-party use of their abilities"

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"Nadhodka? right next to the border? you've traveled far, son" the old lady said, smiling cheerfully at Sam. "My uncle does live east-coast, still lives, thank God! he's a fisherman in the Bering Sea" she leaned against the side of the bus stop uncluttered with all that many ads. "I'm going to fly and visit him today, in fact, been years since I saw him last"

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IC: "You're off in one respect, actually, I'm French myself. An emigrant though, so" Marceau shrugged and leaned back onto his heels, letting his toes leave the ground "Me and that wacko have something in common" To Sam he added "Oui, mon grand frere, the wretched plight of the Haitians as of late was indeed the impetus of the trip"

No fear of that, though I'd say let the other three get a post in before we go again.

The thieves tensed themselves as Marceau began his declaration of their doom, their hands tightening on the wieghtless hilts of their shimmering purple blades, most of them leaning as though for a sudden spring forward. When he finished, Marceau watched their faces with great care, his left hand slipping into a fold in his cloak to retrieve a smoke-card.

It proved unnecessary. The group of thugs relaxed, glanced at each other, extinguished their mystic blades, and lay prostrate on the ground with their hands on their heads. Filled with a rush of relief, Marceau jumped to the floor while simultaneously whipping several pairs of handcuffs from his cloak's inside pockets. After shackling them (including Wolfgang) to a conveniently heavy shelving unit, placing the microphone on top of a pile of the I'll-gotten gains for easier finding,, Marceau stood before them. "Now then, please be reasonable once again, and tell me who set you up for this job. I want everything you can tell me about them, name, race, accent, height, phone number, anything and everything" he demanded. They were only too happy to oblige him. It turned out the mastermind the thefts was a wizard who called himself 'The Contrarian', due to his talent for reversing attacks with magical shields. He was five foot ten inches, covered himself in white-checkered-with-black robes to conceal his appearance, and he lived in a pocket dimension none of them had figured out how to enter on their own(except Wolfgang, thought Marceau). This discovered, The King of Suits heard the approaching wail of police sirens, and thanking the thieves for their help, went out to meet the officers of the law he had called.

Intimidate check to get the gang to tell Kingy who hired them for the job.

(20+5)= 25

Thug's collective Will save: (7)= 7

Success! They inform Kingy of their emplyer's name and nature, but not location due to their not knowing where he is(except Wolfgang that is).

"Uhm. What is your name?" Brian asks Marceau before turning and asking them both, "And how did you get involved in repairing houses in Haiti?"

"My name is Marceau Suvou" Came the hurried reply, How exactly does one go about forgetting to introduce themselves right when they've been asked their name? he wondered in irritation, "As for the building houses part, that was mostly due to volunteering for Habitat for Humanity" he explained.

Raising himself to his feet with all the speed he could muster, Marceau surveyed his opponents with care. His plan had gone awry much earlier than he had hoped, yet less badly than he had feared. The thieves weren't running, were directly before him, and were possibly rattled by the suddenness of the attack. Then again, they may also have gauged him to be a rookie with little capacity to harm them. If he fought, he knew, it would be on their terms, and the clock ticked on...why fight? Figuring he could do worse than try, he stood to his full height, pointed one arm dramatically at them and declared: "I know exactly who you are and why you are here. Your crimes will soon be answered for, as the police have received word of you and your misdeeds tonight. In a little under five minutes, you'll hear their sirens approach, and I can easily keep you all here if you try to run. Surrender now and I'll be kinder in how I restrain you all."

He was quite aware that some especially hardened criminals would be effectively immune to reason, but he gambled that a display of forethought would make them think twice about trying to either escape or fight. He wondered what would happen if it took longer than five minutes for the police to arrive...

Edit: Nevermind, issue raised non-existent.

Marceau had decided to retain his armor(which he usually slept in anyway)for working in the next day, assuming that the hot Haitian sun wouldn't prove much of an issue to him, an assumption in which he was correct. Unfortunately, the Haitian sand proved much more of a problem, and he had had to take advantage of the outhouse breaks to periodically clean the grit from the armored jumpsuit, which thankfully only took about eight minutes.

Now he relaxed in the quiet and darkness, only slightly stiff from the exertions of the day, and nearly half-asleep. "Great job everybody!" he called out to the general assembly, "At this rate, we're likely to run out of wood before our time's up". Turning to Push he added cheerfully : "By the way, Push, That is one fine hammer you've got there. Did you make it?"

Thanks! Was worried this would just drift into the ether.

GM: At The arrival of Jubatus, there had been a noticeable hush as the small crowd took in the approach of the anthropomorph. The average Freedonian would quickly assure anyone who asked that they had no issue with any race, creed or religion so long as it didn't involve being a super villain, yet they still were human, and therefore needed a brief time to adjust to changes like seeing bipedal cheetahs. To their credit the Freedonians acclimatized to the new arrival with slightly greater speed than someone unused to a constant expectation of the extraordinary around every corner, and after about ten seconds of peace a neatly-dressed young man who looked to be in his late twenties came up to him and politely asked if he would be agreeable to an experiment in the bending oF the space-time continuum, which, he said, was a required study for his Master's thesis, and certain to get him a recommendation for entry into A.S.T.R.O. Labs., if successful.

Sam was a fairly ordinary-looking human, so nobody paid much attention at first. After his light jab about Russian Reversal jokes, however, which got several chuckles from the older citizens there, an elderly woman sitting on a small pile of luggage cheerfully asked: "Tell me, son, whereabouts in Russia might you be from? You sound like my uncle, an East-Coast man."

Fortuitously, the clogged intersection had been briefly unclogged, and Norman MacArthur was accelerating down the road to his next stop, his grim mind abuzz with questions. His friend(Uriah Casseivy) had mentioned seeing a strange shape along the road last night, like a man reflected as in a mirror, but on pavement, while a creature black as pitch had stood silently staring at it. Brusquely pushing the exchange from his mind with all the force he could muster, he focussed solely on the road before hum, carefully making his way past cars innumerable, and began planning how he would approach the next atop on his route, which he knew from long experience was difficult to get right up against without bumping the curb and scratching the bus.

Glad you could make it!

Alright, game plan is as follows: I'd say two-three pages at the bus stop should be plenty, another two pages of thoughts/hijinks/conversation on the bus proper, and then...we'll see.

Please do not hesitate to post suggestions or point out mistakes I've made!

As he listened to the litany of scholastic woes, Marceau felt a slight gloom beginning to grow in the back of his mind: When the last time I was like that? When my worst problems came from schoolwork? A slight crease grew on his high forehead By St. Xenia, why did I ever think taking vengeance into my own hands was a good idea? That's hundreds for a one-way ticket I know I'll never buy!. When Brian held out his hand, he shook it warmly A L'enfer with it! Jackie needs her blasted crazy-pills and I need to get a better job, Freedom College may turn out to a den of iniquity, but at least it's something.

In answer to Brian's request for an introduction, he was happy to oblige. Turning to Victoria, gestured to her and said "Brian, this is Mz. VIctoria Knight, an acquaintance of mine I met in Haiti where both of us worked on building houses to replace those destroyed last year. Mz. Knight, Brian, a" He thought for a second and shrugged "young man in scholastic distress. I believe you two are of contemporary age, so perhaps you, Mz. Knight, might be able to help Brian with his problems with focusing in class?"

The days of the week are difficult to keep track of in fiction. The reasons why Tolkien's writing was so genius include the fact that he actually cared about the passage of time in his stories.

Cubist: Good point, again, after several minutes of close(in relative terms) proximity they would definitely relax about the anthropomorphic cheetah, maybe ask in a clumsily casual fashion if they could get a paw-print, or something?

Azuth65: Wait a moment, are we assuming that Marceau knows Wisp and Victoria are the same person?

Good point, and I apologize for failing to take that into account. I'll make sure to keep the renown of the various heroes in mind.

"Good to see you again, Mz. Knight! Been well since Haiti, I hope?" rumbled Marceau, beaming genially at the familiar face and voice, and was about to follow up with a veiled compliment for her actions on the island nation when the newly arrived young man chimed in with his reservations on the day being especially good, then hurriedly apologized for the supposed intrusion. "Not at all, sir, not at all! No need to be sorry in the least! What in particular is the problem, if I may be so bold?"

It was then that he caught sight of Jubatus, and noticing the generally standoffish air the he emitted, simply waved discretely at him and smiled quickly.

Don't mean to be rude, but are we letting this go?

GM: The day was May 14th, 12.38 P.M., and a warm breeze, smelling ever so slightly of the ocean, was blowing slowly through the city of Freedom, having traveled far to see the great metropolis, and feeling in high spirits at being allowed to pass through at its own speed. It blew its warm, slightly salty and ever-so-sticky breath with special kindness on a bus stop in Midtown, plastered with posters for plays, local music groups, more ads than anyone could ever want or need to read or observe, maps to various locations of interest in the city, and dazzling with multicolored(and multifaceted) panels of tinted glass, the product of an over-enthusiastic glass-blowing convention gone frighteningly beautiful. The most eye-catching part of this eye-catching display, however, was the myriad of people from practically every socio-economic group waiting patiently for the arrival of their piece of the mass-transit pie. They were in the throes, for the most part, of deep disappointment. Their driver(a dour, angst-ridden soul named Norman MacArthur) had stopped for an idle 5-minute chat with a fellow driver as they waited for the lights at the hazardous Liberty/40th Ave. stoplight, where gridlock was practically constant. As a result, the unfortunates at the bus stop had plenty of time to get acquainted...

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A sound of quickly moving feet sounded from around the corner of a nearby alley, and a tall youth wearing a dark green coverall and heavy boots came into view, though on seeing the bus-bereft nature of the bus stop, he slowed as quickly as he was able, skidding a few inches to a stop. Marceau sighed deeply, rolling his beard through a series of metal rings as he did, as he watched the streets gloomily. He'd been hoping he could be back at Monkey Towers in time for lunch, which he knew vanished quickly on his floor, to the point where he had to post small notices on meals he wanted to take to work saying"Don't Touch' on them. Glancing up, he caught sight of Lady Liberty carrying two heavily armored fellows high above him. Seeing his movement, a few of the other waiters followed suit, and the stop and most of the street briefly erupted in cheers for the gallant heroine as she sailed smoothly overhead, and some of the crowd swore she looked down and waved to them as she passed. The small respite gone, the crowd sank back into the mire of gloom as the minutes ticked away. Deciding he could do worse than make some acquaintances while he was here. Turning to the person to his immediate left, he smiled cheerfully and said "High time the snow left, eh? Haven't seen the city this bright and pleasant in a while"

The instant Larry leaned back in his chair(to better keep an eye on the door and the current speaker), he felt a faint rush of air behind him, and fortunately enough didn't dismiss it as "just the wind" and turned to see what it was. At the same time he turned Marceau's left fist landed on his cheek, sending his head into the table before him, whereupon he lapsed into unconsciousness. Mike, seated almost across the table, was raising his hand to call forth his mystic blade when the cloaked and masked figure in red and black struck him in the chest with his left foot, sending the thief into a shelving unit behind him stacked with flat-screen TV sets. Amazingly, these failed to explode, or even drop on top of him. This miracle was followed by an act of genuine competence from the third thief the KoS tried to drop, a man named Jonas, who ducked under the whip-like lash of Marceau's right foot, and slashed at his attackers leg. The blow was turned by the armor under the heavy cloak, but Marceau had only seconds to breath before the blows from the other thieves rained down at him. The fifth, a man named Raphael, managed a hit on the shoulder of his foe, but the armor turned the blade, with only light bruising to show for his effort. The others had hacked at their enemy without any sign of its efficacy, and after only a few seconds had retreated several steps from the table, tossing their chairs away to keep themselves somewhat free from obstacles.

No worries! Glad it's not as much of a problem as I feared. Speaking of which, I just remembered, would Falconer bring Snow aboard a bus? Just wondering.

Uh, how long would you say it'll take to sort things out with the refs? a day or so?

Added.

Pleased and proud to have you! Also, anybody who wants any further information about the thread/has concerns/criticisms they'd like to make: by all means! Any feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

PL cap adjusted per your suggestion Quotemyname. Cubist: sure thing! I was thinking of this as more of platform for players with less exposure and experience, but it would be good to have more experienced role-players around to showhow it's done. I'll increase the player limit to seven or so.